avon lady brings love...

"In art, intentions are not sufficient and as we say in spanish,
Love must be proved by facts and not by reasons.
What one does is what counts and not what one
had the intention of doing."
-picasso, 1923

Oh ken! My mother's new boyfriend is a real ass-hole...Don't you wanna come over here and marry her for me?
(Claire, from a 1996 postcard)
The painting above is of sean and claire one night in a empty old house, they played dress-up, they played house.

Clayton continues to come by almost everyday. The hood and his girl do not. The hood is in jail again and the girl has a new hood, saw them pulling a trailer and old boat by hand up the alley one early morning. The price of metal is up. Clayton has a new girlfriend and one night of garbage can cruising he found a old ring, a old avon ring. He gave the new girlfriend the ring and she wears it. He seems pretty happy and told me that he even went to one of the respectful relationship meetings he is suppose to attend. They talked about abuse, all kinds of abuse.

This is bill and thelma. It took me ten years before l finally got a good photograph of them. Bill reminds me of tom waits with his thick wavey hair and gravely voice and sometimes even the words he speaks. The night l took these photographs bill spoke about turning sixty five next year and how depressed he was of this. "If l had a gun ken...l would kill myself." he said. but he had been drinking and l knew and he knew that it was loud talk. Bill was full of tender emotion that night, telling me what a good person l was, what a good friend. Even thelma joined in, wanting to smother my cheeks with kisses, wet dog eared kisses. "Oh stop it thelma" bill would say. "Leave him alone for god's sake." They were both tender. Not long after that night thelma had a bad stroke, ended up on the mainland in a long term care hospital.

"Someone told me there's a girl out there
with love in her eyes
and flowers in her hair."
-lz

sailing...

...izzy, l did this painting a few years ago. And now l am preparing a show, a series of paintings of love. So this other photograph of isabelle l will paint. ...because what l remember is, through her sea of pain izzy has this incredible love for humanity.

3. final story of mickey

"...no one gets to see exactly what we see." (amyrubin)


..."Let's go Mickey...remember today...we're going for a drive." I had even marked it on his calendar, a big X, Sept.27th. Hauling Mickey's clothes out of the closet he asked for his dungees. "You mean your jeans Mickey?" A plain white shirt, and his brown sweater. "Can you shave me Kenny?" Well we got out his old plugged up electric razor and l proceeded to shave him. His face was like a hot water bottle, warm and rubbery. "Don't forget the moustache." "Watch the sideburns...feel it." he said. Save for the aftershave lotion Mickey shuffles to the bathroom to comb his hair. A young boy getting ready for sunday school.
 The first 15 minutes were held in silence as we drove around calgary with both of us filling the car with a heavy fog of smoke, Export A plain. My question breaks the silence. "Get out much Mickey?" "Naw, don't get out much...the guys in the park..like flys...get a bottle, get a bottle."
 Lived in New York, Mickey did, until they kicked him out for an expired work visa. He used to frequent High Park and listen to political rallys until 4 or 5 am. Drinking red wine and fcking snake on the canals in Montreal. Five years in a prison war camp in europe and escaping three times, once under potatoe peels. His boxing days, winning the bantam weight division in Saint John in 1936. From coast to coast Mickey has worked and played only to pass out in calgary and wind up in the Colonel Belcher Veteran's Hospital.
 Two weeks later l stop in to see Mickey again. He remembers our car ride. I change his calendar again.
Mickey's friend "Jello"

smiling and shaking...

...one of my first adventures with mixed media- black and white photographs, tissue paper, a little paint, early 90's l believe. The photograph l took in calgary, was walking down ninth ave and came upon this friendly sort, "Come on, were going to sit...do some drinkin." he said. I followed him to this open tin shack, three walls and a roof, all of tin, a old couch and some upturned buckets. Three of them, all friendly with one of them silent and shaking. They proceeded to puncture a can of lysol and drain it into a gallon wine jug of water. A swig every fifteen minutes seemed to be the routine and when passed to me l politely declined.
Years later while working at a homeless shelter in Prince Albert l noticed that the lysol has been replaced with mouthwash, lysterine.
This is dave, he came into the shelter late one night, dropped off by social services. He was seventy, he was scared, he was shaking. I smiled at him and told him not to worry, l told him things would be okay. I gave him a empty room and wished him a good sleep. A couple of months later dave gave me this poem he had wrote.
"I wandered Lonely as a cloud
That floats on high over hill and dale
When all at once l saw a host
A host of golden daffodils
Beside the trees Below the lake
There l saw myself a fluttering in the breeze."

Dave ended up in a private resthome of sorts way out in the country. I don't think he liked it, couldn't get to town easily and sometimes he needed to get a drink or to talk with other people.

"So what becomes of all the little boys, who run away from home, well the
world just keeps gettin' bigger, once you get out on your own, so here's to
all the little boys, the sandman takes you where, you'll be sleepin' with a
pillowman, on the nickel over there.
-tom waits

rust and canadian tire paper...

Step right up, step right up, step right up,
Everyone's a winner, bargains galore
That's right, you too can be the proud owner
Of the quality goes in before the name goes on
One-tenth of a dollar, one-tenth of a dollar, we got service after sales
You need perfume? we got perfume, how 'bout an engagement ring?
Something for the little lady, something for the little lady,
Something for the little lady, hmm
-tom waits
clayton was by again today and gave me some more canadian tire money and it got me thinking. I want you all to send me your canadian tire money. Yes come on, you will never use it, it will sit in your glovebox or kitchen drawer until you move out, you'll leave it with the dirt and dust. So l got a deal for ya. Send me your canadian tire money and l will send you some rusty metal. Yes yes it's true l give clayton double the value in coin but unless your homeless l will give you a rusty metal stranger instead. The more c.t. money you send, the better the shape. Here's a couple of examples of what a couple pieces of C T paper will get you.

So for those that would like some rusty stranger but don't live in canada, well l don't know what your gonna do, send me something that would equal this, something you have found, a old piece of glass, rusty bottle caps, old postcards, jackknives, old fabric, comeon doit. Here's my address; kflett, 3728-6th Ave.,Port Alberni, BC., canada, V9Y-4M1

 this bikeman made from rusty cans and given to my bestfriend mike. You would need to have quite a wad of C.T. paper to get something like this.

The Great Sea...

The Great Sea
has sent me adrift
it moves me as a weed
in the great river
earth and the great weather
move me
have carried me away
and moved my inward parts
with joy
-eskimo shaman

vacum salesman...

...the hood and his girl haven't been around this week but...the other night a guy trying to sell me two twenty gallon cans of paint. Then at one am l'm outside routing through my rusty metal like a rat in peanut butter and l hear a shout from across the dark street. "Hey, Hey." It's the paint guy again, this time he has a vacum in hand. "Hey, you want to buy a vacum - ten buck." "No thanks, l'm busted ." He looks across the street at the neighbors house..."Guess their asleep hey." "what you doing up so late, can't sleep?" "Ya" l say and then ask him why he is up so late. "Can't sleep either." he says. Damn l should had ask him what the hell his is doing selling vacum cleaners at one in the morning.

Clayton was by again yesterday - everyday. He didn't bring me anymore dead lawnmowers but he did bring me some more canadian tire money. Boy, one day l'm gonna walk into CT with a wad so thick the tellers will cry.
clayton missed his "respectful relationship" meeting, and his probation meeting. I told him to tell them that he is homeless. "I am homeless" he says.

"A DragonSlayor's Whisper" (rusty metal, leather, bees wax, cat)

s i l e n c e

There is a mystery too deep for words;
the silence of the dead comes nearer to it,
Being wisest in the end. What word shall hold
the sorrow sitting at the heart of things,
The majesty and patience of the truth.
Silence will serve; it is an older tongue:
The empty room, the moonlight on the wall.
Speak for the unreturning traveller.
-john hall wheelock

2. The nauseating fog...

I remember when l left
Without bothering to pack
You know l up and left with
Just the clothes l had on my back
Now l'm sorry for what l've done
And l'm out here on my own
Well it was a train that took me away from here
But a train can't bring me home
-tom waits

"You should become an accountant...good money in that." Mickey informs me as l sit next to him on the bed. The room stinks of smoke, heavy smoke like a sort of fog, only nauseating. TV is on blaring out some obscure soap opera. The heat must be cranked up as the room is almost unbearable, combined with the fog, creating a boiler room.
 "Yap, yap, yap." Mickey replies in response to his marital status. Mickey was married once however left his wife because of his mother in law. "Always yapping, yap, yap, yap." He was married for eight years and in turn created two off spring, a boy and a girl. Funny l can't picture Mickey being a father, sure a husband, as l picture him being the wild sailor, money in his pocket, melting some girls heart, with his cute boyish looks, promises of things to come. A real ladies man. "Yap, yap, yap, yapping mother in law." Mickey tells me his daughter doesn't drink. "Wife never did either...my son's a bum...always borrowing money...the bum won't get any money out of me." Mickey tells me he hasn't seen either for about eight years. We both remain quiet, each of us pondering the last bits of our conversation, like sherlock holmes and watson trying to piece it all together. Both having different reasons.
 Mickey offers me another smoke, Export A plain, shit, l decline thinking l might have just lost one lung because of his damn smokes.
 I question Mickey's choice of clothes as he's wearing his pajama's, colonel belcher specials. "Got drunk yesterday, in the park, passed out...now l'm grounded for a month...can't leave the grounds." A small polite laugh comes from both of us.
"Do you believe in alcoholic?" Mickey asks me. I'm hestitant, not sure which way to go. Like trying to please a teacher, l want to please Mickey. "What do you mean?" I reply, trying to play the idiot.
"No such work, l don't believe it...you just like booze, that's all...no such word as alcoholic." Mickey says. The subject is ended now and Mickey and l drop into silence, into the nauseating fog.

1. Mickey's overcoat...

"The world is round
And so l'll go around
You must risk something that matters
My hands are strong
I'll take any man here
If it's worth the going
It's worth the ride."
-tom waits (a little rain)

another old old story, another old old friend...Mickey McGrath. Mickey was my second lesson. Here is a portion of a story l wrote then;

"I've been stood up, l had a date and she stands me up ...bitchwoman!" These are the thoughts rolling through my head as l wander aimlessly down 4th street. My vengeance is distracted as l notice a litle old man shuffling down the street towards me.
 "Hi, how's it going?" l ask. "Could you help me to the chink store?" "My eyesight...gone bad." I proceeded to escort Michael McGrath, his fragile arm linked in mine, to the corner store and back. This was my first of many encounters with Mickey.
 Mickey resided in the Colonel Belcher Veteran's Hospital, floor 3x. He invited me up to his room. There were four beds in the room, with each bed seperated by a wall of fabric. Mickey had, he explained, the choice area, in the corner with window light and only a short walk to the bathroom. We smoked, we talked and l took photographs.

 He's always in his pajama's now, hair never combed and the calendar, always needs to be changed. Maybe he expects it now. I remember my first encounter with Mickey. I changed his calendar then. A calendar, on a wall at the post of his bed. A wall filled with papers, pictures, cards and calendars, all out dated and aged like that in a laundromat. Pictures of the pope, pictures of jesus, catholic paraphernalia. You wouldn't think Mickey a religious man but it's been in his life, like an overcoat. The army, beer, whores, yappy mothers in law, and religion are the materials of Mickey's overcoat.

the hood, his girl and clayton's dead gifts...

...I'll get a dollar from my mamas purse
And buy that skull and crossbones ring
And you can wear it around your neck
On an old piece of string
...I'll take a rusty nail
And scratch your initials on my arm
And l'll show you how to sneak up
On the roof of the drugstore.
-tomwaits (kentucky ave)
...the hood and his girl

The hood and his girl came by one night last week, trying to tell me about james being in jail now and that is why my roof tiles were stolen.
...then again last night, this time just the girl. "have you seen ronnie?" "Do you have a hotplate or something to cook on." she asked. All of our conversations end with something about sparing some money.

... you know when l came home from downsouth this week there was another dead lawnmower in my yard, lined up next to the other one that appeared the week before. Clayton is like my cat (cause she used to bring me dead things all the time as well).
Clayton finds them in back alleys, and he finds other things as well from the sally ann and other thrift store depots. I guess l've already said that l like clayton, the hood and his girl are okay, l mean they are in this little world of "dog chasing tail" so l feel for them.

How could clayton come from prince albert, sk all the way to port alberni, bc. Well he met a girl online, yessir he used the prince albert library internet and met a girl. Her name is tiffany and he came here to port alberni, moved in with her, they had a baby together, now they don't live together and clayton finds dead things.
tiffany and baby
...and this is max, who knew clayton
I remember seeing max around town (prince albert) long before he came into the shelter - all bundled up in black, even dark black shades and behind the dark black shades, a dark black eye. He finally came in, said he was in town for his dad's funeral. Stayed with us for a few months. Was quiet at first but settled in pretty good, a tough guy, in and out of prison he bragged about his fights, his girls. Came into the shelter one night at 2am drunk but l let him in thinking he'd go to bed quiet like. But he was in a fightin mood, yelling, cursing ..."l hate all you white people." Well funny thing was l didn't throw him out - played cards with him instead. He finally left the shelter, then a few months later we got word that they had found max alongside a river in BC., dead.
this is adolf. He use to come into the shelter every couple of months for a one night stay. He use to always laugh whenever he saw me smoking my pipe.
"Old man swearing at the sidewalk
I'm overcome
Seems that we'd both forgotten
forgotten to go home."
-johnny cash

a long long time ago...

Down by the Riverside motel, it's 10 below and falling
by a 99 cent store she closed her eyes and started swaying
but it's so hard to dance that way when it's cold and there's no music
well your old hometown is so far away but, inside your head there's a record
that's playing, a song called

Hold on, hold on
you really got to hold on
Take my hand, l'm standing right here
and just hold on.
-tom waits

...my first trip across canada, many years ago.
...he's an interesting looking man, probably not much over 45. He wears well worn brown cords, 70's style, flared at the bottom. A very used looking shirt, that once was white, with stylized western designs on it. Over this he sports a vest, the kind your dad use to wear while working on the weekends.
I'm trying to think of a way of introducing myself. Approaching the bench, l knelt down at the end. Now being within a foot of his face l notice more detail. Well weathered and tanned like that of a man of the sea, his face. His open mouth revealed broken, blackened teeth. His left eye askew, probably as a result of a barroom brawl. His hair looked like it had been cut by hedge cutters, perhaps a self-helped job to rid himself of lice. A man walking on the edge...
"Smoke?" I said, pushing my pack up towards him. Smiling, "Thanks," he said, as he lit both of our smokes. Once again my seductive ploy had met with success. We remain quiet, he and l silently watching the city rush by. The silence is finally broken. "Nice day hey." Jesus, if this had been my first date l would have blown it. "Ya," he says, looking up and confirming my statement. He smiles again, acknowledging my presence. With such a beautiful sincere smile he resembles that of a naive young boy. Cigarettes and names were exchanged and he began to tell me stories of the trains. "I use to ride the rails." Riding the rails took Bill many directions as well as providing him with a multitude of jobs. Construction, work on the BC highways, and trapping with his uncle were among the handful. His uncle had helped him out of many tough spots, providing occasional work.
Giving him several smokes, Bill placed them in a baggy containing a few dozen cigarette butts. Bill picks butts off the street and he rolls them. "But l watch who throws them away so l won't catch any mouth diseases." Thinking on that, l wonder what Bill would do with the excess time if he didn't worry about where his next smoke was coming from.
With all types of traffic crossing back and forth, we concentrated on the females, with Bill commenting, "Lots of pretty girls go by here." I agreed. "Lots of ugly ones too, but the ugly ones have nicer personalitites." We share laughter of Bill's profound comments.
Again smokes and lights were exchanged and this time Bill offers me his dirty white lighter, to keep. "Thanks Bill."
The conversation returned again to his past work, his plumbing jobs, his handling of dynamite in Winnipeg. "Lots of work in Winnipeg, I can go back there you know."As well, Bill tells me of the plentiful supply of work in BC. "I'm going back there next month," he says, "Lots of work." I have a train to catch and as l leave l tell him, "Go to BC. Bill." He nods and smiles. A half hour later while waiting in the boarding line l spot Bill in the lobby. He has his little baggy out and is picking butts from the ashtray. I hope he goes to BC. I hope he goes trapping with his uncle.

...

"Sun come up it was blue and gold
Sun come up it was blue and gold
Sun come up it was blue and gold
ever since l put your picture
in a frame"
-tom waits


"Ne Me Quitte Pas" -2006

So take in your hands the face of a flower.
Take in your hands the curve of a cup.
Hold in your hands the face of your love.
Hold what you may not hold for long."
- these words from my dear friend Ron Atkinson (his book "To Hold Awhile")

...piss and vinegar

"How many years ago

Were you and l unlettered lads

Mad as the mist and snow."
-keats"

This is my brother Darryl on a bus in Calgary. He was young, brave, tough and stupid. He is still tough and brave but in a contained way. Many years ago when l lived in calgary l had him come live with me. He was just getting out of a program for young, brave, tough and stupid kids. Well one night he had a party, l was tolerant and when they all left at one or two am l noticed one of them taking a bottle of my finest wine. Actually it was only some cheap redwine but it bothered me so l approached him and asked for it back. His friend a mountain of a man pushed me and said "fight him". Well l had a choice fight the mountain or fight the winethief. I fought the winethief but goddamn he was like a badly run yoyou kept getting back up, over and over. Finally everyone tired and went home but l never did get my cheap redwine back.

I love my brother Darryl.

like a spy...

"Let that be the poetry we search for: worn with the hand's obligations,
as by acids, steeped in sweat and in smoke, smelling of lilies and urine,
spattered diversely by the trades that we live by,
inside the law or beyond it."
-pablo neruda

"...score me some paper" from the young hood who banged on my door late the other night and then again this morning at six am. He had a box and opened it slowly and with excitement, new runners and for a little money they could be mine.
Clayton showed up later... clayton has travelled the same road as me, from PA to PA (prince albert to port alberni). I like clayton, he is quiet and unassuming. He dropped hints about needing a place to stay, and l almost told him to camp in my backyard, but ...he was a bit ugly last year so...not yet. (april 1,2006)

"...Charlie l'm pregnant, living on 9th street, above a dirty bookstore,
stop taking dope, quit drinking whiskey"
-t.waits
...there's a coolness in the air now - l like it. I was reminded yesterday about a booklet l wrote in as a kid - little secret codes, like a spy.
"I gave roy bird my shoes" says Jackson who came into the shelter one day looking for a pair of shoes. Wayne is in jail again-maybe for murder. Mark is back in the shelter and john and lloyd.
-from journal sept.2003, prince albert, sk.

Paulo from cuba in prince albert